


Like A Spark

by Urge



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, M/M, Multi, Writer Derek Hale, Writer!Derek Hale, alternate universe - writer!Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-05-05 08:45:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5369033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Urge/pseuds/Urge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek was living happily as an author and touring the country when trouble found him.<br/>And trouble came in the form of a one Stiles Stilinski.</p><p>OR </p><p>the one where Derek is a children's lit author and Stiles figures out that Derek is actually a wolf, and the pack needs his help</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a matter of time

It was only a matter of time, really.

Derek loves his job. He gets to write about all the dumb shit that he got up to when he was a kid and sell it as a fictional account of a twelve-year-old werewolf with an equally hilarious family. Hailed by children’s fiction writers as one of the most relatable fantasy series of the decade, his wild success really came out of a coincidence.

He had decided to take the creative writing class at Laura’s prompting. She said it would be a good way to vent his feelings about his family – he hadn’t really talked to anyone about them since the fire, not even her or Cora, and he had grudgingly agreed to give the class a chance.

To his surprise, the class was far more fun than he had ever thought it could be. He had hated writing in high school, what with its pushy teachers wanting them to ‘dig deep’ and imply deeper meanings. Derek thought that buried, subtle cues were a waste of time and an easy way to lose attention, and as such, never really got along with the erstwhile teachers. In college, the professor took an entirely different approach:

“Choose your topic, choose your audience, and let loose,” she said, handing out prompt portfolios to each student. “Keep those in mind when you’re writing. If you want a central theme, great! Stick with it. If you want a moral? All right! Just make sure it doesn’t change halfway through. The reason that good complicated writing works is that they chose what they wanted to say and didn’t derive from that goal.”

Dr. Malone’s words stuck with him, and after half a semester of writing one page of poetry and three of prose per week, she gave the class a new assignment. “Now that we’ve got the basic ideas of how to really get a flow going as a creative writer, I want you to choose one thing – and write a novella. This is, technically, at least 20,000 words long. If you want it to be longer, do it. You want to make it shorter? Talk to me, and I’m sure we can work something out. You’ve got until the end of semester. National November Writing Month is coming up, and that will probably help some of you hit your word count.” As usual, her words were rapid-fire and addressed questions the students had before they could even raise their hands. She continued speaking after briefly pausing to draw breath. “And what do we keep in mind while writing, guys?”

“Audience, topic, and enjoy it,” the class recited back – it had been so far drilled into them that it was difficult to forget. And Derek hadn’t forgotten – he just didn’t know what topic to choose. Nothing was really inspiring him. He went back to the apartment in SoHo that he and Laura lived in, a neat loft over a bakery (which, to werewolf smelling, was both a blessing and a curse – they gave Laura their reject piles, resulting in Derek becoming a little softer around the edges than he was used to, but at least the apartment never smelled bad). 

Laura found him staring at the ceiling from the couch, psychiatrist-style, hands folded across his tummy. “What’s up, Der-Bear?” she called from the kitchen, where she was putting away what smelled like a batch of cannoli.

“Make him stop whining!” Cora cried from the loft they had installed in their studio-style apartment. “He keeps complaining about how he can’t do it. He won’t even tell me what it is!”  
“For your information, Cora, I tried to tell you and all you did was turn up your music. Laur, my professor told us to write a novella. It’s our final project.”

“And what’s the problem? I thought you loved that class.”

“I do, but I just don’t… I don’t know what to write.”

Laura leaned over the couch and poked Derek’s nose. “It’ll come to you, little bro. Don’t stress too hard. You’ll get frown lines. Now come help me make some dinner.”  
Derek stood. “What’re we making tonight?” he asked, resigned to his eternal fate as sous chef. Laura was in culinary school – who would have guessed that an Alpha werewolf would make the perfect head chef? – and often brought home studying with her. Derek could probably make half of the recipes in the Le Cordon Bleu’s cookbook at this point, thought with less success than his sister.

“I was thinking some mussels, in white sauce,” she replied, holding up the bag of shellfish, grinning at the face he made. “Der, you’ve gotta try new foods sometimes. We cook new food all the time! What’s your deal with shellfish? You’ve been like this since you were a kid. Mom could never get you to eat them. Once, you climbed up a tree and gave them to baby birds. Birds, Derek. And then you fell out of the tree when the mom attacked you and broke your arm.”

Derek froze. “Laura, that’s it.”

“What’s what,” she said, busy washing the mussels and finding the right wine.

“That’s what I’m gonna write my story about.”

“Your hatred of shellfish?”

“Do it!” Cora cried from her aerial position. “It would be great! Talk about how you went on a quest to save the world from the evil mollusk king!”

“No – Cora, really? No; I’m gonna write it about our family. Us as kids. She’ll never think it’s us – I can just say it’s fantasy.”

And so, Derek was inspired. He jumped into the writing – it was cathartic, to a degree, but beyond that, it was fun to write about the things he and his siblings got into when he was younger. He liked to think he was inspiring a younger generation to greater shenanigans with his story, as he was writing it.

His teacher thought the same. “Derek, this is phenomenal! The ideas for the chapters are great, and though there’s no central, driving plot, they work together to form a cohesive story about a kid and his family! How did you even come up with some of these ideas? A darach? What even is that?”

Derek had smiled and pawned off his excessive knowledge of lore to good research skills, demurring and hoping that Laura would think the same. 

He switched his major to English the next day.

So here he was, five years out of college and seven novellas in. All of his stories were written for young adolescents – he remembered it being a hard time, so his books tried to focus on that, while adding on the caveat of werewolfhood. Each new book focused on another new creature coming to town, and the adventures that followed. Though not really driven by a desperate need to make money – he had enough money from the insurance to live seven lifetimes – he still felt good making them. Especially at book signings.

Like what he was doing today.

It’s almost time to finish up, and though his cheeks hurt from smiling so much, it’s a good hurt. He rests just high enough on the cusp of famous that signings go remarkably well and that the kids really know his stuff. Some are convinced werewolves were real, some just think it’s a well-written piece of fiction; Derek doesn’t bother to set them straight. He likes to let their imaginations run wild. He’s been signing for hours, learning names and hearing stories, the line finally dwindling to just two or three famlies when the door opens again to admit a tall, broad-shouldered youth.

Derek’s eyes widen. The kid is hot – but looking again, he isn’t really a kid. He’s college-aged, at least, and looks nervous. The breeze from the closing door carries his scent towards the signing table, and Derek inhales – nerves, yes, definitely; but also something deeper. Something… wild.

Derek finishes signing the book of the little girl standing in front of him, and smiles at her, genuine and warm. “I’m glad you liked it so much. I’m writing another one now, but you know that there are other books out there that you’ll really like, right?”

The small girl shakes her head, contrite. “No,” she protests, “I only like Miguel.”

Derek glances at her mother, apologetic, and shrugs. “Are you sure? When I was your age, I loved a few books. Do you want me to write down their titles so you can read them when you’re waiting for Miguel’s next adventure?”

She pauses, glancing between her book and Derek’s face, then nods quickly. “I’ll try it,” she finally says. “But I don’t have to like it!”

Derek laughs, startled. It sounds like something Cora would have said when she was the girl’s age. Cora seems to think the same, from her lurking position between the stacks, if her snort is anything to go by. “Of course not. But remember – even Miguel tried those mussels, eventually, and he loved them. Maybe one of these books will be the same for you.” He hands the list to the girl’s mother, and they thank him and leave.

After another few families, finally, the youth is in front of him. “Who am I making this out to?” Derek asks, hitting him with his best flirty grin. He had no shame – he was going to find out why he was here, and why he smelled like that, if he had to seduce the truth out of him. “I can’t exactly say ‘doe-eyed beauty’ on your book, now can I?”

The guy flushes, briefly, then looked over his shoulder, checking to see if anyone else was in the building. The manager was checking out some families, and everyone else had wandered off. 

“Listen, I know it’s real.”

Derek freezes. “What,” he said flatly, betraying nothing, “is real, exactly?” He could hear Cora moving towards him in the stacks, staying hidden but not too far away to help.

“The books. All of the stuff in them. It’s not exactly hard to figure out. At first, I thought the stories were just based off of your life, and that you had added werewolves to it, but then you talked about the darach. And a kanima. And a kanima’s final form. And kitsunes, with accurate sword action.” He shakes his head. “You can’t make that shit up.”

“I’m afraid I just did a good deal of research, Mr.…?”

“Stiles. Just call me Stiles. And you’re still lying to me. There are only two copies of the book in which the information about how to defeat a kanima is found, and both of them went to supernatural families. The Argents got both copies after defeating a corrupted sorcerer in the Loire Valley in like, the seventh century or something. The other one stayed with the Hales after it was gifted to them by the Argents after they both signed a non-aggression pact. Not that the Argents kept their end, when it came down to it.” The man – Stiles – gives Derek a pointed look. “I know, dude. Don’t bullshit me.”

Derek pauses – he does know. There’s no blip in his heartbeat to give him away. “Wait here,” he says shortly, walking over to the manager of the bookstore to thank him for allowing him to do the book signing, and officially checks out. “All right, now we’re going to go to a coffee shop and we’re gonna talk about this,” he says as he is putting on his jacket, more for Cora’s benefit than Stiles’. “You ready?” He directs his question to Stiles, this time, and raises an eyebrow when he noticed that he seemed distracted by his shoulders.

“Um – yeah. Yeah, let’s do that,” he says, pressing the heel of one hand into his eye. “I know this great place – come with me.”

Derek follows Stiles a few steps behind him, trying to get a gauge on what he knows and, more importantly, how he knows it. Finally, they stop in front of a coffeehouse. “I know it doesn’t look like much,” Stiles begins, “but I swear that they have the best mocha you will ever taste.” Derek shrugs, and follows Stiles into the building after checking to see if Cora’s still following them. He sees her seemingly engrossed in a storefront display, and hears her murmur for him to go on. Derek turns away, and pushes through the door.

He’s overwhelmed with the scent of herbal teas and coffee as he steps in, and has to shake his head to clear it. “Sorry,” Stiles says, “I forgot how overwhelming it can be to some people. Is there anything you want to drink? We might be here for a while.”

“Just get me their best coffee. I have a feeling I’m gonna need it.”

When Stiles joins Derek at the table he snagged, he sets down a large mug in front of him. “The best part about this place is that they give you real glassware unless you specifically ask for a travel cup. So much easier to drink coffee from a mug than a weird hole in a lid.”

“Stiles, please focus. We have a lot to talk about and I’m supposed to be leaving in the morning. I don’t have a lot of time.”

Stiles pauses, looking up from his hands wrapped around his mug – long, nimble fingers fiddling with the diffuser in the cup – almost like he was trying to be distracting – focus, Derek, his inner Laura said – and grins ruefully. “Yeah, this might be a little weird, but my best friend Scott was bitten by a werewolf around a year and a half ago and, well. I didn’t exactly have anyone to turn to, so I was definitely doing a lot of internet research. The Argents moved to town, just Chris and Allison and Victoria, and they took care of the rogue for us, but not before it bit a few more kids. Well, specifically, six more of us. We think it wanted teenagers because they were easier to manipulate – you know, peer pressure, no set identity, et cetera.” He shrugged. “Two of the bites didn’t take right. Jackson turned into a kanima – nasty business – and Lyds started showing signs of being a banshee. We figured out how to fix Jackson, with true love’s kiss, which is some fairy tale level bullshit, but I’m living out a fantasy novel, so whatever.

“Erica, Scott, Isaac, Boyd, and Liam all had proper transformations, for lack of a better word. They’re all wolves. Scott became a true alpha, which was weird. We discovered a werecoyote in the woods, and she’s part of our pack. Jackson and Lydia were abroad for a semester in London, but they came back and now – well, they’re still assholes, but they’re happy assholes.” He paused. “A kitsune is in our pack. Her name is Kira. She’s like this mix of goth cool that’s also super cute? Not really sure how to describe her sense of style. It’s very singular. Allison and Scott are in like. Super love. Like, soulmates and shit. They’re sickening and it was very difficult in the beginning to get her dad to accept it but I think that at this point he’s resigned. Victoria totally hates Scott though, and it’s hilarious. I think they have something polyamorous going on with Isaac? Not really sure. You probably didn’t need to know that. There’s a hellhound in the Sheriff’s department, which is weird, because he totally didn’t know he was a hellhound until we told him after reading Mr. Argent’s bestiary.

“But that’s about it, honestly. Or, at least, it was up until around a month ago.”

“What happened?” Derek asks, taking the bait.

“We found out that I’m a spark. And then Gerard found out that I was a spark. And with Gerard, so comes-“

“Kate,” Derek grinds out. “She’s where you are? Where do you even live?”

“Oh,” Stiles says. “Beacon Hills. I thought I had told you.”

Cora drops into the seat next to Stiles abruptly. “I’d say take us to your leader, but you seem to be the most on-top-of-it person in your amalgamation of a pack. I’m Cora Hale. This is Derek, but you knew that. Laura is in New York at her restaurant and I’m not taking her away from that when the Michelin Star Review comes out in like, a month and a half. So me and Derek here are gonna help you with your little pest problem. Got it?” Stiles nods mutely, clutching his chest and breathing a little heavily. “Sorry for scaring you, by the way, but you should honestly be used to stuff like this by now.”


	2. clairvoyance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek meets some of the pack. Jackson and Cora get along. No one is surprised, except maybe Stiles, who is resolute in the fact that Jackson only gets along with Lydia, and Isaac when Isaac is feeling particularly bad.

They end up at Stiles’ house. “It’s summer break right now, so everyone’s home, but Gerard literally has spies everywhere. Don’t be surprised if they come knocking on your door. We have a few safe houses around town if anything gets bad but they’re looking for me, not you, so they shouldn’t do anything drastic.”

“You don’t know Kate,” Derek growls, checking over his shoulder. His anxiety has sprung back sevenfold after finding out that Kate and Gerard are in town. And, without a doubt, they know he’s in town; after all, his publicist advertised around town extensively. His only hope is that his penname’s enough of a confuser that they won’t be able to associate him and his teenaged face with the pictures on the dust covers of his books. He ushers Cora in before him, and locks the deadbolt behind them. “They’re a pair of sadists that will stop at nothing to see the supernatural wiped out. Is Chris with them?”

“Actually, Chris is helping me out. He’s trying to hide me from his dad – we’re not entirely sure why Gerard is coming after me, but he is, so we’ve gotta figure out what he wants. We’re afraid that he wants to reactivate the nemeton.” Derek’s attention snaps back to him. “The nemeton? You mean that old oak stump in the middle of the forest?”

“Yessss…?” Stiles drawls, staring at Derek. “How do you know about it?”

“Stiles, I grew up here. I’m Derek Hale. Hale fire.”

“Fuck. I just thought – I thought that you had gotten the research materials after the fire, I didn’t – didn’t realize that you got it because you were a survivor. I’m – I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be dragging you back into this. I didn’t talk to Chris about talking to you and I’m sure he would have told me not to and I’m so sorry,” Stiles babbles, pushing his hands through his hair, further disheveling it. “You should probably – probably leave, then, because Kate-“

“She likes to finish what she starts. We know, Stiles,” Cora says from the couch, where she has found an old photo book of different snapshots from a polaroid camera. “Who took these? They’re pretty good.”

“What? Oh, Kira. She’s the hipster of the group. She found some old film and a camera at a garage sale and totally got into it. Are you two not listening to me?” Stiles asks, sounding a bit desperate. “It’s dangerous for you here! Far more dangerous than it is for me.”

“Stiles, I know your crash course to the supernatural only began a few years ago, but you’re gonna have to trust me on this one – with a pack like yours with a hunter on its side to make sure we stay safe, we’re probably safer than you are. And why, do you ask, are you not safe? It’s because you’re a rogue spark with nothing to hitch you down. You’ve got your pack, sure, but it’s not firm yet, because you haven’t had a chance to go through the proper ceremonies.”

“There are ceremonies?!”

“Disregarding that outburst for now,” Cora smoothly continues, “we can protect ourselves. You can’t. Why did your pack even let you out of their sight?” Suddenly, someone pounds violently on the front door.

“So help me, Stilinski, if you don’t have a damn good reason for ducking out on Lydia and Allison when you three were shopping I will personally flay you alive!”

“Aaaand, that would be Jackson. Also known as Lydia’s errand boy. Let me open the door! You break it, you bought it!” Stiles checks the peephole, making sure that it is, indeed, Jackson at his door and finally unbolts the locks. “My reasons are good! Don’t kill me for at least enough time for me to explain!”

Jackson slams the door closed, turning the deadbolt aggressively. Derek inhales, and catches a whiff of something more pungent than anger – no, Jackson was scared, and worried, and it’s only now that he’s allowing himself to become angry, now that he knows Stiles is safe. Jackson seems to catch their smell at the same time, and shoves Stiles behind him and pops his claws. “Who the fuck are you?!” he snarls, fangs out and eyes flashing.

“Heyyy, Jax, you remember how I told you about that author that I was pretty sure actually was a werewolf or at least knew one when they were kids? Well, turns out the author is Derek Hale. Of the Hale fire.” He grins sheepishly when Jackson rounds on him to stare incredulously. “Derek, Cora, this is Jackson, ex-kanima and currently a cooler dude than he once was.”

“What,” Jackson says flatly.

“You know, I’m just gonna pretend that there was a question mark somewhere in there,” Stiles quips, deftly moving out of Jackson’s reach. “Anyways, they’re here to – to help?” he asks, turning to Derek. “Right?”

Derek sighs. “We’re gonna get the Argents out of your hair and tie you to your pack, and then we’re going to leave. It’s not our place to stay here. So you said that Scott was the alpha, right? Does he know that this land is still technically Laura’s?”

“Laura?”

“Our sister,” Cora pipes up. “The chef. Best boeuf bourgeon you’ll ever have, I swear.”

“She’s the alpha.”

“Oh,” Stiles muses. “No, we didn’t know that. Deaton said that none of the Hales had been back on California land since Peter passed away.”

Derek stiffens, then nods. “Yeah. But it’s still under our protection. I’m sure we can work out some sort of proxy defender thing – there’s no chance that Laur wants to come back here, so Scott can stay, but that comes after the whole. You thing.” He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, and gets a lungful of something sweet and strong and danger-filled. He stares at Stiles. All of that is coming from one person?“What kind of spark did Deaton say you were?”

“Um. The Elder Druid, I think he said? Or was it older?”

“Oh my God, Derek, you sure know how to pick ‘em,” Cora groans, flopping back onto the couch.

“What? What does that mean?” Stiles asks, glancing between the two siblings.

“Well, according to my research,”

“Thanks, Dorothy Ann,” Cora mutters.

“… _According to my research_ , an Elder Druid has the power to both curse and heal, and to see through any sort of disguise presented.”

Jackson pauses from digging through the fridge, apparently convinced that since Stiles is in no immediate danger, he is free to eat. “Maybe that’s how you knew Matt was bad news,” he says slowly. “Even when no one else could.”

“It was so obvious, dude! The guy literally followed Allison around for a week straight. He climbed onto her roof. It’s weird when you’re not dating, even if almost all of you guys have done that to me at least twice in the last month and a half.”

Jackson flushes. “Shut it, Stilinski."

“Whatever, my point is made. So, Derek, what does that mean for as to why Gerard wants me so bad?”

“If he had you in his power, then… well, if you were strong enough, he could find supernatural creatures that were previously hidden to him, and you’d be able to work as an early warning system and a lie detector as one. In addition to that, curses are terrifyingly effective. If you really wanted to, you could probably make Jackson go bald, with just enough emotion. With training? You could be virtually unstoppable.” Derek’s eyes dart to Cora, who’s been staring at him for some time. “We need to get you anchored immediately. Can you call your alpha over?”

-

When Scott finally arrives, Derek is staring at the photos in the hallway, with Stiles explain who’s in them. “So you’ll know the pack when you see them,” he had half-heartedly explained.

“Who’s this?” he asks, pointing to a photo of a chubby-cheeked Stiles, from when he was young, with a man in a deputy’s uniform and a young woman.

“My parents,” Stiles responds, eyes sad. “Dad’s still around – he knows about all the supernatural stuff; found out when Scott was still sneaking around with Allison and they were borrowing my Jeep to sneak in so her dad wouldn’t figure out it was him. My dad thought that I had passed out on the side of the road so he just unlocked the door with his key and well. Scott kind of wolfed out on him. Both of them nearly pissed themselves when they realized who it was.” He pauses. “Scott ruined my upholstery. He still hasn’t paid me back.” At that moment, there’s a knock.

“It’s Scott and Allison,” Jackson calls from the kitchen, where he seems to be putting together a bacon and waffle sandwich for both him and Cora. They’re bonding, and Stiles finds it weird. “They’re also pissed. Good luck, dickhead.”

“So kind, as always, Jackson. Wait, where did you get the bacon?”

“Your dad’s the sheriff, Stilinski. He knows how to hide stuff. I’m doing you a favor, here.”

Stiles shrugs, and opens the door. “Scotty, m’boy! How are you doing today?”

“Stiles, you know you can’t just do stuff like-” Scott scents the two new wolves and tenses, eyes bleeding red. “Who are you two?” he asks, teeth clenched.

“Scott, these are the Hales, rightful owners of this land. They’re here to help us handle the Argents and to get my anchored to your pack-slash-the land.” He looks to Derek. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees.

Scott’s eyes turn back to their natural color. “Okay, and how did you find them?”

“You remember those kids books that I told you were really really weirdly accurate? The ones about Miguel?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, meet Miguel, or Derek, as is his real name.”

“Oh. Stiles, wait, did you stalk this poor guy?!”

“So if I suggested heavily that many children in town would love to see the author, and that it would be a beautiful place from some rest and relaxation, does that count?”

“Oh my God,” Scott groans, putting his hands on his head. “I’m sorry that my best friend is a meddler, dude. I hope this didn’t cause you any trouble.”

“No, I have final say in where I go. I figured it was about time to come back to this neck of the woods. Beacon Heights was close enough to what used to be home to check it out without having to be back in the thick of things. I guess trouble,” cue a pointed look at Stiles, “just seems to find me wherever I go.” Stiles has the decency to look a little sheepish, but shrugs as if to say, ‘well it worked, didn’t it?’

Allison steps forward in the awkward lull that follows. “I’m Allison Argent. I know enough about the… situation that this might have put you in from my dad. As hunters, we follow a different code now than what we did before,” before Kate, “before, and now we don’t actually hunt things. We more, well, protect. _Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes._ It changed, after Jackson. Dad realized that the pack was a bunch of scared teenagers just trying to protect each other, and failing, and it kind of swayed him.”

“That, and the fact that you threatened to get the bite and join the pack for real if he wouldn’t stop trying to shoot your boyfriend.”

She blushes prettily. “Well.”

Derek offers his hand, and they shake, and it feels like something in Beacon Hills is settling into place. “So what we need to do is simple. We need to keep Gerard occupied for long enough that we can perform the ceremony.”

“Ceremony?” Allison, Jackson, and Scott chorus.

“It’s basically a bunch of Celtic bullshit about full moons and farie circles and the nemeton to purify the land and get rid of evil spirits, and from what Stiles told us about your troubles, the nemeton is about as far from pure as it can get. Realistically, that’s probably what Gerard wants to take advantage of – if he can tie Stiles to a dark nemeton, and then to him, then he’ll have the power to curse almost every kind of supernatural creature there is, even the ones generally immune to spells, like dragons, for a quick example. In addition, any kind of healing powers would be amplified, but I’m not sure in what way – probably in detriment to the person being healed,” Cora explained through a mouthful of bacon.

“Oh,” Allison says quietly. “Mom said that Gerard had been diagnosed with cancer. Maybe…?”

 _Definitely_ , Derek thinks, reflexively stretching his hands, resisting the urge to pop his claws.

“Definitely,” Stiles says, echoing his thoughts. Derek jumps, and Stiles looks a little apologetic. “Sorry, dude, it’s just… I’m a little clairvoyant? Deaton thinks it’s coming with the Elder Druid thing. It’s weird. I more get feelings than whole thoughts.”

Derek flushes, and resolutely vows to stop thinking about Stiles and his lips and moles and eyes and –

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA I'M LITERALLY JUST PROCRASTINATING FOR EXAMS HELP ME


	3. a rash of bites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some backstory explaining how things came to be in this 'verse.

“Next full moon is next Saturday. Sounds like you’ll be in town for a while. Is that okay?” Lydia asks Derek. She had stormed onto the scene in a light cloud of fragrance, steeped into her hair like a potion, and had quickly taken over the proceedings. “Usually, we’d leave arranging this with Stiles – he’s basically our resident lore man – but since he’s a bit personally involved,” she turns her electrifying gaze to Stiles, who merely raises his hands in front of him in the universal sign for surrender, “we can’t exactly do that. I’m assuming neither of you have contacted your alpha yet about the situation?”

Cora shakes her head. “I’ve been giving Laur a livestream since Stiles told Derek that he knew. Which, by the way, majorly ominous, probably not your best approach. Keep that in mind next time you’re approaching a werewolf you don’t know who isn’t really on his home turf.”

Lydia nods. “Contact Derek’s agent, if you have to, to tell him that you’ll be staying for a while.”

“Unnecessary,” Derek replies, “this was the last stop on the tour, and I told my agent that I’d be out of commission for a while. I said it was to work on my book – which, well, it was; I wanted to get some inspiration from where it all happened, but now, obviously, I’ve got something more important to deal with.”

Lydia huffs, and crosses her arms. “And your housing?”

Cora and Derek exchange a glance. “Technically, we do have a house here…”

“Oh, no. You are not camping out in the burned-out apocalypse shell of a mansion that is for some reason still standing in the middle of the Preserve.”

“Wait, it’s still standing?” Derek asks, obviously confused. “I thought it was condemned years ago.”

Scott pauses. “Wait. If that’s not where you were planning to stay, then where?”

“Laura has an apartment that we bought immediately after the fire with, um. With the money. We had to stay somewhere while Cora and I finished out the year. Laura was working at the bakers’ place, taking a gap year, so she didn’t exactly have any school to hold her in place. We stayed just as long as we had to, and then left for New York so Laura could start learning.” Derek pauses, considering how long they’ve been away from the apartment. “We aired it out after Uncle Peter passed away, but it’s been a while. It’s bound to be musty.”  
At this, Scott perks up. “Since you two are doing so much for us, could we help you out? I could send Liam and Malia to open the apartment and get the dust up. Or maybe I should send Kira with Liam instead…”

“Send Kira,” Allison laughs quietly. “Malia would probably hole herself up in a room and refuse to leave for hours and poor Liam would have to clean the entire place by himself. Besides, didn’t Malia break her phone last week? We’d have to track her down first.”

“Fair point,” Scott acquiesces. “They’re all a great pack, I swear, just sometimes a little… distractible, y’know?” he explains to Cora, who’s wearing a smirk like she finds the entire situation far too entertaining.

“That could work,” Derek agrees. “Honestly, they don’t even need a key. Just go to the front desk and tell the doorman that the Hales are going to be back in town and need the apartment key. The answer to the question he’ll ask is ‘Paige.’”

“Front desk? What kind of fancy place is this?” Stiles asks, interest piqued.

“Beacon Plaza, actually.”

“The intense kind of fancy, then.”

“It was an insurance policy, of sorts. Laura figured that any hunters wanting to finish the job would be less likely to attack in a well-populated area with heavy security, and they wouldn’t want to hurt any passerby, either. It was the best solution she could think of. Plus, the view from the penthouse… she claimed it was therapeutic for us to see that the sun still rises, even if it feels like the world has ended.” He sighs. “And, as usual, she was right.” Derek pauses. “You know, none of the Argents know where it is, and it’s definitely safer than your house – no offense, Stiles, but you can’t exactly barricade it with mountain ash against two humans.”

“You know, I thought you were going to say assholes, but that’s also a fair point. So what are you proposing?” he waggles his eyebrows. “Do you want me in your den?”

Derek feels his ears burning and Cora’s eyes doing the same to the back of his neck. Scott’s eyes widen nearly imperceptibly. 

“Oh my god,” Jackson groans. “This is going to be awful.”

-

They arrive at the Hale’s apartment after consulting the Sheriff about Stiles’ whereabouts during the immediate future to see Kira and Isaac beating out the rugs, Isaac perched on the sill and Kira smacking it with a broom. “Oh my gosh!” Kira cries when she sees them, turning around so quickly that she nearly pushes Isaac off the ledge. Allison and Scott rush to his side to grab him – Allison takes a hold of the rug and Scott grabs onto Isaac’s scarf, both tugging simultaneously to bring him back into the room. “I’m so sorry, Isaac!” Kira cries, looking distraught that she almost killed her friend.

“You know, I’d say that I saw my life flash before my eyes, but to be honest, that fall would probably only really hurt a lot, and it was also definitely not the scariest situation I’ve been in,” he good-naturedly snarks at his packmate. “So this is the infamous Derek that Stiles has been waxing poetic about? Did you really battle a kappa?”

“I have not been – been waxing poetic – about – about anyone!” Stiles sputters, looking around the group for support.

“Lie,” Jackson announces from across the room, inspecting his claws.

“Ugh. I hate you all,” Stiles mutters.

“Also a lie!” Isaac grins at him.

“To answer your question,” Derek begins slowly, fighting to keep his grin off his face, “yes, I did fight a kappa. And yes, it was my uncle who pissed it off. He decided to swim in its lake and not offer the correct gift.”

“I can’t believe you knew that bowing was the right thing to do! Barely anyone knows that anymore!” Kira exclaims, clutching the broom to her chest.

“Technically, it was less meaning to bow and more slipping in the mud while running away and looking like he was bowing that made it do that,” Cora drawls. She’s made her way up the stairs, presumably adjusting her bedroom to how she wanted it.

“That’s hilarious, dude,” Scott says, grinning a little.

“My life is basically just a series of happy circumstances strung together with a big pendant of sad in the middle with other happy coincidences after,” Derek says, shrugging. “I’ve had to kind of come to accept it after I started writing about it. It was cathartic. But we have other stuff to be talking about – like where’s Deaton? Is he acting as your emissary?”

“Eh, kind of. He’s more like an advisor – thinking about what you said, about this still being Laura’s land, he’s probably still yours. But he definitely helps us whenever we go to him. Like, to get me diagnosed with Elder Druid-ism. But he’s not helping us cast spells. In fact, we didn’t realize that he was a druid until like, after we had killed off the rogue.”

“Could we call him here so I could talk to him about getting some stuff transferred over to Scott and Stiles to act as regents for the land? Laura’ll probably never come back here, not for good, but it’s kind of. Family land. I don’t know if there’s a good way to phrase this, but I don’t think the alpha in her would ever really agree to just giving it up. She doesn’t really have land of her own in New York, other than our walk-up, and a plot of forest out in the countryside.”

“I’ve already called him,” Lydia says, picking up the throw pillows Kira and Isaac had freed from their vacuum-sealed prison and thrown onto the floor and settling them expertly on the couch. “He should be arriving any minute now.”

“Okay, then, can I circle back to the rogue wolf? Who was he? And how did he get all of you in such a short span of time?”

“Story time!” Isaac cries, pulling both Scott and Allison onto the couch with him. Lydia huffs as her precise pillow placement gets disturbed, but joins Jackson on the loveseat that he had settled onto when Stiles was explaining about Deaton. Kira sinks down into the plush armchair that Laura had fondly called ‘the prison seat’ when Cora had struggled with it in Ikea. (She had then bought it just to spite Cora.) The entire pack turns to Stiles, expectant (or slightly bored, in Jackson and Lydia’s cases) looks on their faces.

“What? Me? Again?” Stiles sighs, already resigned to his fate. “Fine, fine. I’ll tell it.” He takes a deep breath. “Hope you’re all comfortable,” he says as Derek sits tentatively next to Scott, who offers him a genuine smile. “So, it began, I shit you not, on a dark and stormy night. It was the first lacrosse game against Devonford Prep, and we barely won. Actually, if I’m not misremembering,” he pauses to waggle his eyebrows at Jackson tauntingly, “I was the player that made the winning shot. No thanks to someone. Only reason I got into the game as a sophomore was because the prep schoolers were taking out as many of our players as they could, leaving the scrawny second line. Scott was also on the field, and so was Jackson, and Jackson didn’t want Scott to get the ball and thusly the glory, so they fought over it in a scrum with another player and then it popped out and I just kind of. Picked it up and ran. And no one even noticed until I was shooting and I scored and the crowd went wild! It was a validating moment in my life. So after this happened, I was carried off on the shoulders of my adoring public-“ 

Jackson clears his throat, and Stiles shrugs. “Okay, so it more went like they all piled on top of me and then we moved in the pile-slash-huddle thing to our cars and then to a party. Because of the revelry, I didn’t notice that Scott wasn’t with us. I wasn’t paying attention to Jackson because at that point we totally hated each other and I preferred to pretend he didn’t exist. Once at the party, I noticed that Lydia wasn’t there, and then I couldn’t find Scott, or Jackson, and I was worried that Jackson had actually murdered my friend.

“So he hadn’t murdered Scott – it was more like he was giving him an extremely stern dressing-down with the threat of violence. Lydia was there and definitely the reason Scott wasn’t killed, because Scott couldn’t be diplomatic if his life depended on it, and they were basically just really getting into it when Lydia says,” at this point he guestures to Lydia.  
She sighs, filling in the blank with “Are you seriously growling at each other right now?!”

Stiles nods, and continues. “So they all pause, and follow where the noise is coming from, and this is the point where they all basically realize that they’re totally fucked. Scott and Jackson both hoisted their lacrosse sticks to protect Lydia, because Lydia had like no martial arts skills at this point and no blunt instrument with which to cause trauma. But again, rogue werewolf, very fast, very dangerous, and very vicious. It hit Scott first – right in the side, and dragged him a little ways away. Because Jackson doesn’t actually want people to die, especially not right in front of him, he grabbed Scott’s jersey and started pulling him away. Cue tortured screaming and agonizing pain from Scott, and that’s when Lydia grabbed his fallen crosse and started beating the wolf on the head with it. It released Scott and turned on the immediate danger – particularly, a 5’3” strawberry blonde goddess with a lacrosse stick. He caught her in the side, and when Jackson heard her scream, he went after the wolf. The wolf was having none of that, and also bit him. Scott was a little recovered at this point, and fought the wolf off Jackson, and the wolf decided that since it had bitten all three of them, its work was done, and skedaddled.

“Liam was kind of an exception to our case – I didn’t know him at the time, but he was playing on Devenford Prep’s team at that point, but he lived in Beacon Hills. He had gotten home from the game – though he was an eighth grader, he was allowed to play on the team, just not during varsity games, so he was mainly a benchwarmer. He wanted to burn off some steam and was playing in his backyard when the thing literally just jumped his freakin’ fence and took a chunk out of his shoulder. Liam wrapped it and decided to take an ibuprofen and go to bed – it wasn’t bleeding badly for him, so he decided it wasn’t really going to be much of a problem. We’ll get back to him later.

“Erica and Isaac were walking home from the game together – they lived in the same general area of town, were both members of the baking club at BHHS, and made it a point together – Erica, so her parents would let her out of the house without them going with her because they trusted Isaac, and Isaac, so he would have an alibi when his dad questioned him. The game had ended, and they were both rushing back to their respective homes together when the wolf jumped them. This was around the point where we realized that it wasn’t thinking straight – it attacked them in the middle of the street. Erica started having a seizure after it bit her in the thigh, so Isaac called for help, but he was losing a lot of blood, so he barely had enough energy to see who it was he called – he pressed the recent calls button, pressed my name, rolled Erica onto her side, and passed out. I was the person he had called, and I was pretty worried at the party at this point, because I didn’t see Scott or Jackson or Lydia, and getting a call from my project partner in AP Human Geography was totally weird.

“So I answer, and all I hear is a howl, and some noises in the background, and Isaac saying help, so I hopped in the Jeep and started trawling town for them. I found them pretty quickly, thankfully – Erica had already stopped seizing after I had gotten to her, but I took them both to the hospital. Once we got there, the nurses took over, and I stayed in the waiting room to wait for them. I saw Boyd come in at that point – apparently, he had been closing up the ice rink when the wolf came after him. He hadn’t lost too much blood, because he had enough time to put pressure on it, and had called 911 himself, and they brought him in. Now, at this point, I thought it was a little suspect that three kids had gotten bitten all in such a quick amount of time. If one’s an incident, two’s a coincidence, three’s a pattern. Isaac and Erica both got released after a few hours, and I took them home with express instructions to call me if anything weird happened. They agreed, and I went to go look for Scott.

“I found Scott and Jackson walking towards the hospital together, Jackson carrying Lydia on his back. Their phones had been lost in the scuffle and Lydia’s was broken, so they couldn’t call for an ambulance. They both looked pretty battered, so I told both of them to get in the Jeep. Now, at this point, I’m really suspicious – they’re all bleeding in the same exact area, even if they are all reacting differently. Jackson won’t let anyone else touch Lydia and Scott is holding his head like he has a massive headache. Once we got to the hospital, I didn’t go in with them – I knew that it would seem really sketchy if I brought in five hurt kids on two separate occasions, so I dropped them in the lot, with the same instructions. Jackson and Scott got let out that same night – or, early morning, I suppose. Lydia didn’t. 

“She was in a coma, and they couldn’t release her until she woke up, for safety reasons. Jackson visited every day for a week until she suddenly disappeared from the room. This is about the time when Jackson started acting weirder than usual. He got mad for no reason, started blacking out, not getting enough sleep – it was almost as if he was possessed. That was my running theory, at least, until I looked at the calendar. The full moon was that week, and it totally coincided with all the weird behavior Scott was displaying.

“Allison had moved to town two days after the attacks – Scott gave her a pen because he had supersonic hearing and heard her talking about how she needed one, yada yada love at first sight, cue gags-” he points at Kira, who dutifully fakes a gag, “-thank you, Kira, much appreciated, and so they were totally in over their dumb teenaged heads with each other. Lydia showed back up, naked, at the edge of the preserve, totally scared out of her mind, and she came back to school and faked her way though it. It seemed to calm Jackson down a little bit, having Lydia there with him again, so I decided it was time to call together a meeting of wolf-people anonymous.

“We all met in a classroom at lunch. I’m pretty sure the only reason Lydia came was so that she could prove to herself that she wasn’t actually going crazy, and Jackson came because Lydia was there, and because both Allison was friends with Scott, Jackson and Lydia, she, of course came too. I was at first a little reluctant to let her in on the secret, but then I saw her necklace.

“Because I am nothing if not thorough, I had come across the insignia on her pendant in the annals of hunter history. I asked if I could see it, and she agreed, and my suspicions were confirmed. I was like, do you hunt? And she said no, but she was a champion archer, and I was like ‘oh yeah okay I need to talk to your dad after this’ and because Ally A is infinitely gracious, she agreed to let me come over. So I told the group about werewolves, and what I thought they were, and what I thought they should avoid in the coming week and what they should be careful about. Jackson brought up the fact that the team had a lacrosse game coming up, and that it was bound to drive up blood pressure, and I agreed, and told Scott and Jackson that if either one of them started losing control, it was their job to stop him and get him away from the crowd. Scott was a little disbelieving at first, but then I asked everyone how their bites had healed – all gone, even Lydia’s – and then I asked how Erica was doing, seizure-wise, and told us she hadn’t had one in a week and a half, which was longer by far than anytime before, so I asked her to wean herself off the meds and see if they returned. I then decided to show Scott how his healing worked.”

“More like you cut me with a penknife and we all watched it stitch up again,” Scott interjects, grimacing. “It was majorly gross, dude.”

Stiles shrugs. “Greater good, my friend. Anyways, so I dismissed them all until tomorrow, when they were supposed to report back in. Allison and I decided to go to her house the next day, and Lydia decided to go for some retail therapy. She grabbed Erica to go with her and be her aesthetic eye, and Boyd and Isaac tagged along. Jackson said he wasn’t feeling well, so he went home.”

At that moment, there’s a quiet knock on Derek’s apartment door. “Deaton,” he murmurs, standing to open the door. Behind the frame is the emissary, with four more wolves behind him. “Come in. I think Stiles was just talking about you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this one was a little longer than I expected but I really got into it and also I don't wanna study for French. enjoy the product of my procrastination!


	4. sigils with meaning!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is more backstory, and some fluff, and derek realizes that he is absolutely fucked by these way-too-perceptive teens

“Well, my Batman never can resist talking about his Catwoman,” Erica purrs, prancing across the apartment and draping herself across Stiles’ back. Stiles rolls his eyes, like this is a regular occurrence, and she’s just teasing him, but it doesn’t stop Derek from feeling a tinge of annoyance and maybe – no, definitely not – jealousy. Derek doesn’t get jealous. He’ll be fine.  
“Derek, Cora if you can hear me – this is Erica, Boyd, Liam, and Malia. Erica turned into a seductress after the bite, and Boyd. Well, Boyd didn’t really change, just got some friends. Liam is a puppy. Like, an actual puppy. Don’t let him tell you otherwise. Malia is our resident werecoyote and still a little feral so don’t be surprised if she acts skittish around you,” Stiles explains, pointing at each member of the pack as he introduces them. “Do you want to hear the rest of the story or do you want Deaton to do his emissary thing?”

Derek considers the options, then looks to Deaton for his opinion.

“I still have to call Laura – I want to set up a Skype call so she can meet Scott before entrusting him with Hale lands for an indefinite amount of time. Stiles can continue his story. I’ll be on the balcony, as to not disturb you.” Deaton strides efficiently through the sliding doors on the opposite side of the apartment to the balcony, and closes them behind him.

Stiles snorts. “Who wants to bet that he’s sealing it so no one can hear what he’s talking about?” The pack simultaneously raises their hands. “He’s a mysterious fucker, Derek. We’re all pretty sure he does it just to mess with us, at this point.

“Anyways! Where was I?” he claps his hands together, and looks around at the assembled group. “Ah, yes, the mall. Home to degenerate teens and makeover montages. And that was exactly what was happening, courtesy of Lydia, to Erica, Isaac, and Boyd.” He pauses, and glances at Boyd. “Actually, all Boyd did was get a leather jacket and then Lydia deemed him transformed. It was more of an attitude thing for him.”

“It was technically an attitude thing for all of them, Stiles,” Lydia interjects. “I’m taking over this part of the story. I tell it better, anyways. So Erica was still in sweats, and Isaac was the dictionary definition of a shrinking violet, and I decided that they were both far too hot for that to be how they acted. So we went first to the salon. My parents were going through a divorce and simultaneously showering me with gifts, and I had, at that point, accrued around a thousand dollars’ worth of gift cards to various shops in the mall. I decided to donate to the greater good – I figured that if I was going to have to spend extended amounts of time with them, they had to look the part, otherwise people would think that I was slipping. So we got them in there, and I let them take over this part of their makeovers, while helpfully pointing out what would make their best features pop. 

“And from mice came tigers, more confident in their own skins, and they then started to really get invested in what they’d be wearing. Isaac bought around seventeen scarves, and Erica tried to buy just corsets. I put my foot down and made her buy some clothes that wouldn’t get arrested but also still screamed ‘look at me; I’m hotter than you could ever hope to be’ because let’s face it, she’s got a better body than half the students at BHHS put together. When Erica put Isaac in a gauze top for laughs, though, we saw the bruising on his sides. We put two and two together – his tendency to shrink from yelling, his reluctance in confrontations, added with the bruises, and I called the police department to set up a consultation.

“After the mall, we went straight to the police. Isaac didn’t want to tell them – he was afraid he’d be placed in the foster care system, so I got the Sheriff to promise him that one of the pack would be able to take him in. Of course, I didn’t call it pack so much as ‘his friends,’ but whatever, moot point. We got his statement, and the Sheriff made the call to take Isaac in for a while, until the legalities of the situation were figured out. Isaac’s dad was arrested the next day.

“Stiles, do you want to take it from here?” she says, turning to Stiles. He nods, glancing over at Isaac, who’s still snuggled tightly between Allison and Scott. He seems fine, so Stiles clears his throat and continues.

“So Allison and I were going over to her house the next day, and she was warning me that she had never heard anything about wolves before my telling them, so she wasn’t even sure if her parents would be able to help. I figured it was worth a shot, even if they didn’t – nothing ventured, nothing gained. Well, turns out, Chris was totally on the up-and-up about our wolf situation – he knew it had attacked people, just not who. I decided it was probably within our best interests to not reveal who it was, just in case he turned on us. I explained what was happening, maybe a little frantically, because it was nearing nighttime, and the wolf had been increasingly active in the last week. I think my exact words were, and I quote, ‘Mr. Argent, sir, I’m sorry to disturb you when you’re cleaning your guns, but I think I might have some information that you can help me with.’

“At this point, the man is intrigued. I explain what’s happening: that my friends are all exhibiting increased healing skills and aggression, especially at night, and that I’m pretty sure the rogue wolf is trying to accrue a pack and bring them all together on the full moon. He seemed a little confused that I wasn’t trying to hide from him – he asked me how I knew what he did, and I told him about my research after Erica’s seizures had completely stopped, and Lydia’s stint in the hospital, along with the general weirdness that was Jackson, and he was… well, he was pretty much convinced.”

Erica cackles. “He didn’t have much of an option after you basically busted out with ‘there is literally no way that I have anything to do with this beyond all my friends getting fucked up and caught in the middle of a supernatural shitshow,’ Batman.”

“Okay, so my exact words were probably something along the lines of ‘Lydia is in the hospital and Erica is giving me boners suddenly and maybe so is Isaac and Boyd is like crazy levels of scary now and Jackson is acting really freakin’ weird and I don’t know what to do, what with the imminent death of the moon coming up,’" Stiles sheepishly admits. Erica and Isaac visibly preen at the offhanded compliment. “But hey, it worked.

“Chris told me that he and Victoria had been dragging Allison up and down the Rockies for around two years looking for this same wolf. It kept moving, and Gerard and Kate couldn’t be fucked to deal with it, because all of the people the wolf tried to turn rejected the bite. They only wanted to get the glory of taking down a rogue pack – or a pack like ours. And here they are, again, which is less than ideal, but whatever. Chris and I made a plan – to grab all the wolves we knew about and get them into the forest during that night and surround them with some mountain ash to help keep them safe and us, too, by proxy. We figured once the wolf was in the area, and we were also protected by the beauty of non-crossable barriers, we – well, really, Mr. Argent – could shoot the wolf and finally get rid of it.

“As plans are wont to do, it failed, and Liam showed up when he called the pack, and through an extremely violent firefight and some impressive impromptu spark skills by yours truly, the alpha finally lay dead on the ground next to the Nemeton. For a while, there was no alpha, which was problematic for their control, so we got them all anchors, but then, finally, after the whole alpha pack thing and Darach incident, Scotty over here became a true alpha, which is apparently impressive as fuck. Who knew?” Stiles shrugs, and claps his hands together. “Am I missing anything, guys?”

“Kanima.”

“Kitsunes.”

“How we got rid of the Darach.”

“Danny and Mason.”

“Eh, we can tell him that stuff later. Jackson is no longer a kanima, Kira is a kitsune, and the Darach, that evil bitch, is beyond dead.”

Derek sits back a little, stunned. “So you mean – you mean to tell me that you maneuvered to form an alliance with some of the most ruthless hunters in North America and that you’ve survived all of that – and most of it without an alpha? That’s – that’s beyond amazing,” he says, slightly breathless.

Cora pokes her head over the railing. “None of you died?”

“Technically, Jackson died, but that’s a little complicated.” Jackson shrugs, agreeing. Derek and Cora share a disbelieving glance. “What, is this level of conflict not normal?” Stiles asks, seeing the worry written on Cora’s brow.

“This means the nemeton is getting crazy active, to attract all this heavy crap to here. Especially to have so many people turn without complications in one area. It’s a bit unbelievable, Stiles. We believe you – it’s just miraculous that no one permanently died.”

Deaton finally walks back into the common space. “The preparations are complete, Scott. If you’ll come with me?” He looks around the circle. “Allison, Stiles, come with me as well. And Derek, too, if you will.”

Derek furrows his brow, mildly confused, but stands nonetheless. The four of them walk soundlessly to the balcony. “Derek, I need you here to be able to actually transfer the regency, as Laura is not here, and someone of her pack must do it. It has a better chance of taking if it’s her head beta, and I assumed this was you. Is this true?” Derek nods, and Deaton holds out both hands. “I’ll need you both to take off your shirts for this process.” They do ask he asks, and he takes their shirts from them. Derek can smell the spike in arousal coming from Allison – apparently, it doesn’t take much to get her going. Deeper, though, he scents a heady fragrance. He inhales harder, trying to place where the addictive scent was coming from – then feels the tips of his ears burn as he realizes it stems from Stiles, who is unabashedly staring at Derek’s bare chest. He smells woody and like cloves, oranges, and the sea put together. Derek didn’t know someone could smell so good. 

Deaton’s next words snap Derek out of his fugue state. “Scott, your hand, if you will.” Deaton places Scott’s palm around the inside of Derek’s wrist, and arranges the fingers in a pattern that traces the veins in Derek’s arm. He mirrors this with Derek’s hand, then takes a silver thread and winds it around their hands. He takes a bowl he had placed on the table, and dips his fingertips in it. A silvery material comes out, and he paints this in sigils in finer lines than should be possible with such inelegant materials up their arms, torsos, necks, and ends with a design around their left eyes. As he does this, he explains out loud – purportedly for the benefit of Stiles. “These designs are the runes needed for a nonpermanent transferal of power. This sigil is meant to signify the domains of the property being transferred, and where they end and begin, and this is to what degree Scott will hold the power. The left eye is said to behold truth. I’ve drawn this symbol over both of them to help the truth of this bond remain sanctified.” He pauses, and takes in a breath. “Allison, can I ask you to put your hands on Scott’s waist? And Stiles, the same for Derek?”

“Why?” Allison asks, as she places long fingers over Scott’s hips. “Is this significant too?”

“Yes, you will be grounding your respective wolves during this process.”

Stiles’ brow furrows. “Why me, though? Wouldn’t Cora be a better choice, considering that she like, knows him for something beyond his children’s books?”

“Mr. Stilinski, are you not aware –” Derek’s panicked expression cuts him off. “Ah, never mind. Trust me,” he says instead. Stiles pauses, then shrugs, used to Deaton being beyond cryptic. Derek silently thanks every god he knows to thank for this small break in his habitual bad luck – it couldn’t have come at a better time. If Stiles were to find out what Derek thought he might be, he’d be possibly horrified. Scratch that, probably horrified. He’s barely known Derek for five hours. He can’t drop a bomb like that on him, maybe never. Yeah, never sounds good.

Derek blinks when Stiles’ hands land low on the curve of his waist, and tenses a little. “Sorry, big guy,” Stiles murmurs, squeezing a little and moving his thumbs in small circles. “This should be over soon. Deaton is nothing if not efficient.”

Derek says nothing and tries not to melt under Stiles’ (ridiculously) nimble fingers. He prays this will be over soon, as he can tell that Scott is starting to notice Derek’s reaction to Stiles by the little grin on his face. And maybe Allison is more perceptive than he first thought, as she’s mirroring Scott’s expression.

Double shit.


	5. punch-drunk puppies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the rating goes up a little bit for language (because I wimped out about actually writing smut when Derek is magically whammied because I'm not a dubcon kind of person) and Derek says some things that he will greatly regret in the morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao I promise I'll write y'all some smut soon enough just like it has to come naturally (lol come I'm maybe a little sleep deprived rn)

Deaton takes a survey of the group as a whole, and nods, satisfied. “Mr. Stilinski, hold a little tighter, if you will. I don’t want you losing your grip; he may move violently during this episode.”

Derek feels Stiles swallow behind him. “Is this safe for us humans?” he asks, glancing across at Allison. “I feel like they might hurt us without knowing it, if they have the tendency for violent movements during this process.”

“Let me assure you, Mr. Stilinski, you and Allison are perfectly safe from harm from the hands of either Derek or Scott. Now, if you have no further questions, we shall continue the process.” Deaton dunks his hands back into the silver bowl, and holds them, palm down, over their attached arms. He begins intoning something – in maybe Celtic? Derek hasn’t heard Celtic in years, since the fire – and Derek feels his eyes roll back into his head as power surges through his body like a conduit and he loses track of his surroundings.

That is to say, he loses track of everything but the heartbeat behind him.

Stiles stares down at Derek, whose head has fallen back to rest against his sternum. He knows he shouldn’t be wondering if this is Derek’s o-face, but it’s all he can think about. If he just gets rimmed for like, an hour, do you think this is what he’d look like when he finally gets to come? He blushes deep red, then looks away from Derek’s expression. He sees Allison, staring at Scott, a little slack-jawed and flushing prettily, and he realizes, that, indeed, it is Scott’s o-face she is looking at – and now, Stiles is looking at it, because he is a curious person, and hopefully, this will be the only time in his life that he has to see it. He pauses. Well, he reasons, if that’s Scotty’s face, then it stands to reason that this is Derek’s face, too. Obviously it’s their faces. But like. That face. He snorts internally, rolling his eyes at his own incapability to form coherent thoughts around such a (heavenly face, his mind supplies) situation.

Then, Derek and Scott start shaking. Their faces harden, and then start to look as though they’re in pain. Stiles knits his brow, and glances at Deaton, who seems, as usual, unconcerned. He tightens his grip on Derek nonetheless, and prays that he doesn’t get dislodged. Or whacked with a wayward claw. Those hurt, he had learned when fighting off Scott during that one time he escaped his basement when Allison was out of town on a full moon. They had done control exercises for a week after that. It wasn’t an experience Stiles was eager to repeat.

Lights shot out of Derek’s eyes – bright blue beacons beaming from his irises. Suddenly, red light started escaping from Scott’s eyes – bleeding around the edges with a white, and then a blue, and back to a white. Stiles stares, enthralled. He has never seen a white light before, and wonders if it has to do with the power of the alpha shining through to Scott. Laura has been around longer than Scott, so even if she has a smaller pack, it makes sense that their bonds were tighter and makes her a stronger wolf. He makes a brief mental note to work on pack strengthening after the Gerard issue is buried.

As quickly as the changes came over the two wolves, they end. Derek slumps, muscles releasing the clench they had adopted while shaking, and lands on something taut but soft, yielding just enough to make his fall comfortable. Scott does the same, only staying up by merit of Allison holding him under his arms. Deaton blinks a few times, the gleam that had come to his eyes fading, and slowly reaches down to untie the bindings he had placed around their arms. “Stiles, Allison, these two might not be at their best for a few more hours. I’d recommend treating them as if they had had a lot to drink and were not capable of werewolf-level healing powers.”

“In other words, prepare for hangovers,” Allison quips, already sliding under Scott’s arm and hoisting him up. Stiles admires the effortlessness she managed everything with: if he would try to do something like that, whomever he was holding would probably slip to the floor with Stiles on top of them. Oh, Stiles on top of Derek, now there was a nice thought. Derek inhales, and curls deeper into the softness of Stiles’ stomach, pressing his nose lower to his waistband. Stiles flushes again, and flicks his eyes between Deaton and Derek. “Is there anything else we need to do tonight, or do we have to wait for the full moon?” Allison continues, walking her punchdrunk puppy through the door and into the living room.

Deaton shakes his head. “Nothing to do but wait. Stiles, I really do recommend that you stay here. I can place some runes that will keep you untraceable to the Argents unless they see you walking in around the loft, but that’s almost all the protection I can offer you against these people. I apologize for not being able to provide more assistance.”

“It’s fine,” Stiles calls over his shoulder, panicking a little bit about how to get Derek to his bed. Jackson appears behind him, nearly silently, and nudges Stiles out of the way.

“Move, Stilinski,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna drop him.” He carries Derek in, and Stiles does what feels easiest at this weird, limbo-filled moment, and snarks back.

“I’d be able to hold him better than you could ever do it, dude. Don’t underestimate these shoulders; they’re broad for a reason.”

Malia, ever-so-helpful, chooses to chime in at this moment. “It’s true, you know, this one time, he held Erica up for an hour in the pool when Jackson was trying to kill them both. Or at least that’s what Isaac told me.” She glances at Isaac for confirmation, and smiles softly when he raises both thumbs in confirmation.

Cora looks up from the text she had been going over with Lydia. “Sounds interesting. But Derek’s basically just a solid brick of nerd and muscle. I’m pretty sure Stiles couldn’t handle it.” She raises an eyebrow at Stiles.

A challenge it is, then.

Stiles sweeps in behind Jackson and props up Derek. “I’ve got it, Scales,” he teases, ignoring Jackson flashing his fangs. It’s all in good fun, now, and Stiles stopped being scared by that trick once he learned that Jackson turned into a puddle of wolf whenever you pressed just right behind his ear. He begins pulling Derek to the bedroom, and calls over his shoulder to the assembled group. “You guys should probably go home now, get your affairs in order for the eventual showdown that we all know is coming. Sharpen your knives, claws, and arrows, get your highlights done, et cetera.”

Erica grins slowly. “You sure you just don’t wanna be alone with him, Batman?” she murmurs into his ear after she darts across the apartment to his side. “I stuffed a condom into your wallet last month at the club, when I thought you were gonna get lucky. I know for a fact that you didn’t, so it’s still there, because you never actually check your wallet, and just get everyone else to pay for you. But just so you know – wolves can’t get STIs. I asked Deaton.” In a flash, she is standing by Boyd, who’s waiting for her by the door. “Toodles!”

“Evil,” Stiles mutters derisively, watching as the rest of the pack trickles out after them. Jackson leaves last, following Isaac and Allison holding Scott. He stares at Stiles, one eyebrow raised, almost like a question. Stiles pauses, then grins. “Aww, Jackson, you really do care!” he whispers, knowing he’ll be able to hear it across the apartment. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I have my stuff with me, anyways. If I wanted to, I could be halfway to Alaska before they could blink.” Jackson slowly nods, and turns out of the door. Cora locks it behind him, and looks at Stiles.  
“My bedroom is up there. I don’t think Laura has a third bed here – she and Derek shared space for a long time. Guilt and stuff all trapped in his head. Not sure where you can sleep – all the couches are a little small.”

Derek and Stiles finally make it to his bed. “Oof,” Stiles remarks as he drops him onto the mattress. “You are a brick. Cora, I’ll be able to figure something out. Thanks for the concern. Do you want to talk about anything else before I go to sleep? It’s been a long day.”

“Don’t hurt my brother,” she remarks, climbing the stairs to her bedroom. “Sleep well, O future druid. Don’t grow a tree while you sleep.”

Stiles laughs, a little startled. “No promises,” he tells the air, closing the door and turning back to Derek. He’s starfished out on the mattress, relaxed and at peace. “You know, without those frown lines, you almost look like you don’t hate me.”

Derek stirs, and stares at Stiles. “D’n’t hate you,” he slurs, pushing the words together in a way that Stiles tells himself should not be sexy, but is still maybe halfway giving him a boner from thinking about what Derek sounds like when he’s blissed out. “Y’r too nice to hate. Smell too good,” he drawls. 

Stiles blushes, and shakes his head. “Buddy, I don’t know what kind of magical whammy Deaton hit you with, but you’re saying things you probably don’t mean. Do you have some PJs I can stick you in?”

“Publish’r… he’s bringin’ it t’morrow. Just…” Derek trails off, and starts struggling with his shirt. Stiles stares at the skin he’s revealing, and then flushes, rushing to help the poor, sad werewolf. “I us’lly sleep j’st in boxers. S’easier.”

Stiles pauses from crossing to the dresser to put up Derek’s shirt to stare at him, flopping his legs to try to get out of his pants. He’s completely relaxed on the bed, not even bothering to lean up. His shoes are still stubbornly stuck on his feet. While the thought of Derek sans clothing is tempting, this sight is just pure innocence. Stiles smiles a little and heads over to help him. “Gimme your legs, dude. You’re getting as tangled as my pack’s relationships. Just – foot through, and, yeah. Okay, good. Now you don’t have pants.” Stiles pauses, and stares at the newly-pantless Derek. “Or a shirt. Wow. Okay.”

Derek inhales deeply, finally leaning forward to sit up, getting closer to Stiles than he would prefer at this time. Stiles understands that wolves can smell arousal. And hell, if Stiles isn’t aroused right now, then fire doesn’t burn. This doesn’t stop Derek, however, who smiles wolfishly (bad time for jokes, Stiles, he tells himself) and stares up at him through lidded eyes. “Just okay?” he murmurs, placing a warm palm on Stiles’ upper thigh.

“A little bit more than okay – wait, no, you’re still weird and magic-y, you need to sleep, not to sex me up and regret it tomorrow. Lay down, dude. Down.” Stiles is telling this as much to his dick as he is to Derek, and it’s obvious that neither of them are convinced. “What, are you worried the Argents are gonna steal me away overnight?”

Derek nods, as serious as can be, and says, “They’ve done worse things than take my mate from me.”

Oh, okay, that’s a fair point.

Wait.

What?


	6. poor, poor cora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which derek and stiles sex it up and cora is traumatized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS LATE I AM SORRY EVEN THOUGH I DON'T HAVE A POST SCHEDULE I WANT TO GET THESE UP MORE FREQUENTLY FOR YOU GUYS BUT HEY THIS HAS SOME PORN ENJOY
> 
> also see
> 
> first time writing porn and I hope it is good

Derek distantly notes that Stiles has tensed up and is staring at him. Was telling the truth not the right thing to do here? _No, you ridiculous kid,_ a voice that sounds suspiciously like his dad’s says in his head. _Way to drop a bomb. You were never one to pull your punches, huh, buddy?_  Well, he hadn’t really set out to tell the truth, but he was just feeling so secure, so safe, that he had let it slip. What’s the next thing a werewolf should do after telling a teenager that he might be in wolf-love with him? Should he apologize? No, that’ll make it seem like he had been lying, which would be so far from the truth. Should he follow through with the heavy hand resting on the back of Stiles’ neck like he wants to? In the end, he settles on the tried and true method of pretending that it didn’t happen, and continuing on his merry, magic-zonked way.

Stiles starts moving again as Derek’s hand goes lax from its position on his thigh and slides up his side to rest across his ribcage. “Um. We’ll talk about this later, but I can’t really take you seriously right now, because, you know, magic, impaired consent, dubcon. Won’t do it.” He clears his throat, and pushes gently on Derek’s shoulders. “Let’s get you to sleep.”

Derek slumps under Stiles’ long fingers back into his pillows. “Okay,” he murmurs, losing his grip on Stiles’ body, and reaching instead for his oversized flannel and getting his fist into it. As Stiles moves to go away, Derek tugs gently, but with his lycanthropy, he ends up with a lapful of Stiles. He growls deep in his chest when Stiles lands on the seam of his crotch and leg, and snaps his hips up to meet Stiles’. Stiles flails, and rolls over quickly, off the bed and onto the floor, landing with a thump.

Before Derek can think to ask if he’s okay, Stiles pops his head over the side of the bed, and stares at him, doe eyes staring at hi, and brows clearing his forehead entirely. “Dude. No. You don’t want _this,_ ” he emphasizes with a broad sweep of his hand. “You look like _you,_ and I’m just a – a Stiles!”

Derek blinks slowly back at him. “…So?” he finally asks, reaching a hand out and placing it on top of Stiles’ head, lacing the fingers through his fluff of hair. “Tha’s like… why you’re so great,” he says.

Stiles inhales deeply, and climbs slowly back onto the bed. “Oh… okay, Derek. Sleep now.”

“Stay?” Derek asks plaintively. “Please,” he adds, pushing out his lower lip in an attempt to pout. Stiles wants to tell him that it makes him look less sad and more sexed out, but decides that it’s a bad idea to mention this to a horny werewolf. Stiles nods, finally, and settles on his stomach next to Derek. Derek moves to spoon around Stiles, but aborts the movement at a sharp look from Stiles, a little hurt.

Stiles sighs. “Just… not today. Eventually, if you still wanna talk to me in the morning.”

Derek grunts in affirmation, places a warm, broad palm on the back of Stiles’ neck, and his limbs turn to jelly. He can’t remember the last time he had been this relaxed – definitely before the book tour had started, but even with Laura, even in a safe place, he didn’t always feel so able to completely let go. This was a nice feeling, he decides, and closes his eyes on the world, listening to Stiles’ heartbeat as he lets his senses slip away into sleep.

Stiles can’t stop staring at Derek. He has barely gotten to know this man, this wolf, and suddenly, he was in his den, in his bed, and his wolf side had even let him fall asleep in front of him. _Doesn’t he have any sort of self-preservation skills?_ he wonders to himself. _He could get himself killed if he’s not careful._ But it’s not like Stiles is complaining. Hell, he hadn’t even known what he had looked like – his photo in the back of the book is a picture of a pack of three wolves. Which, in hindsight, makes a lot of sense, but didn’t when he was first trying to track the guy down. He hadn’t been sure when he contacted the publisher if he would actually get Derek here, and definitely didn’t know that Derek was one of the Hales. Damn pseudonyms, they always get the best of him. But Derek is like a god – sculpted from fire and pain, he had emerged like the wolves in Japan from fire only stronger for it. He has become a protector for his family, or what’s left of it, and is now coming to help them – this pack that he barely knows, and has agreed to teach them customs long forgotten, all for their own safety.

 _A martyr, through and through,_ Stiles thinks, shaking his head minutely to himself. He knows exactly what caused Derek to become so closed off, so he’s even more bewildered by his willingness to help Scott’s pack. Even farther into the Twilight Zone is Drunk Derek’s apparent attraction to him. Like, Stiles isn’t the same virgin he was when he was pining after Lydia his sophomore year of high school. He went a little wild in college, but he had enjoyed his time with everyone, and had no regrets to speak of. He knows he’s attractive to some people. But Derek saying he’s his mate? Literal crazy talk. This man can have any being he wanted in his bed, and he’s saying he’d choose Stiles? He scoffs to himself, then freezes as Derek shifts and throws his arm over his body, dragging him into his warm side.

 _This is new_ , Stiles thinks, and then mentally shrugs. He’ll stress about this in the morning. It doesn’t seem worth it to freak about it now, not when there’s a warm body in the bed next to him.

-

When he wakes up in the morning, their positions have… shifted. He’s no longer firmly entrenched in Derek’s side; rather, he had, sometime during the night, been buried by the bulk of Derek’s frame. And while the feeling of his spectacular abs is particularly delightful, he’s a bit unsure what to do with the rather impressive morning wood Derek is sporting.

And, oh yeah, slowly grinding into Stiles’ ass.

He muffles a groan. It’s been at least a week since he’d been able to get off last – he’d been too stressed out to really jerk off like he had wanted to, so he had just refrained. This, he knows, will be forever burned into his brain as prime masturbation material. Like, the primest. He can feel himself getting harder, pressed into the bed as he is, slowly being moved by the rhythmic push of Derek’s hips. The stimulation is far from enough, but it’s a slow burn that he’s finding he appreciates in this situation. Still half asleep, he pushes back into Derek, letting out a low moan, unable to stifle it. Derek moves, waking up, and buries his face deep into Stiles’ throat, his grip around his midsection tightening. “Stiles,” he growls out, fangs brushing over the nape of Stiles’ neck, making him shiver. When Stiles lets out another groan, Derek freezes.

“Oh my God, this isn’t a dream, is it,” he half-asks, hard dick still pressing into Stiles.

“Ha, nope,” Stiles replies. “Do you wanna continue this, or do you wanna talk about what it means, first?”

“Can we talk after I take care of this?” he asks, thrusting minutely. “I can go to the bathroom if you want,” he adds, somewhat sheepishly, and Stiles turns his head to see Derek’s ears turning a deep red color.

Stiles grins lasciviously. “Feel free to keep on what you were doing,” he drawls, pushing his ass into Derek’s hot dick.

Derek’s hold tightens on Stiles, claws popping out and scraping lightly over his ribs.

Stiles moans out Derek’s name in response, and bares his throat to Derek, which only seems to spur him on. The only good thing that had come out of having to coach Jackson through his newly-found sexual preferences after he was bitten was knowing exactly what would turn a dominant wolf on. Such as, for example, showing him his vulnerable points, which just so happened to be one of the most scent-saturated areas on the human body. And it works just as well for Derek, if the increasing tempo of his thrusts is anything to go by, much to Stiles’ (sexual) pleasure. Stiles’ dick is being rubbed into the sheets, and he can feel beads of liquid running into his boxers, easing its path and lessening the friction on his sensitive head. He sleepily grins, and starts doing what he has been told he does best: talking dirty.

Now, when he was a freshman in college, there had been this boy, Micah. And Micah and him had a wonderful, sex-filled first semester together, not as boyfriends, but as a casual hookup whenever one of them was feeling particularly pent-up. And Stiles had discovered that Micah had a kink for hearing about the filthy things Stiles would like to do to him. So he had refined his trade to the point where, just from talking, he could make Micah come untouched. Literally, untouched. The phone sex was amazing, and his imagination was vivid, and it had worked for them. Though it hadn’t lasted long, it had left him with a very particular skill set that he put to use more often than not in bed.

And put it to use he does.

“Derek, your dick, oh my god, I want it in me, now. Please, god, just touch my cock, rub your big fingers all over me, never let me stop, rub me raw, please, just touch me. I can suck your dick so good, you’ll see. Get your come all over my face, rub your scent everywhere, let you touch me, only you, as long as your want. String me out til I can’t breathe anymore without smelling you and me mixed together. Make it so everyone knows I’m yours.”

This is what seems to set Derek off, as he comes with a strained grunt and thrust that pushes Stiles deep into the mattress, blunt human teeth clamping around his trapezius. Shakily, Derek reaches down to Stiles’ pants, and pushes his hand into his boxers, tracing lightly around his cock before solidly moving to take it in hand. He only has to pump a few times, twisting lightly with each pull, until Stiles is coming undone, shuddering under Derek’s lazy attentions until he feels overstimulated and gently pulls his hand away from his dick.

“Well, that was an interesting experience,” he finally comments, after basking in the afterglow for maybe less than five minutes. “Care to explain what that, amongst other things that were said last night, mean in terms of the two of us? Because, lest you forget, my entire pack except for like two of them have super smell. They’ll be able to tell, trust me, and they’re all terrible at keeping secrets from one another, and my dad, and it would be horrific if the Sherriff actually came by to threaten you.”

Derek stiffens, suddenly as rigid as a board. A board with washboard abs. Ha, a washboard board. “It means whatever you want it to mean?” he finally ventures, voice lilting into a question at the end, showing the insecurity he was trying to mask.

“Nah, I get the feeling the whole ‘mate’ thing isn’t something you can choose, dude. You’ve gotta tell me about that.”

Derek grimaces. He’s starting to feel that post-magic hangover kick in, and knows that Stiles won’t let this one slide. “Well, um. I should probably start before I left Beacon Hills.

“So I met Paige when I was fifteen. I loved her. She died. I knew she wasn’t my mate, but it still messed me up. My mom dragged me down to the police station to give a statement about who had killed her, and there, I met you. You were younger than me, then – I think only eleven – and it was like lightning had struck me. You were this crazy little kid, running around the station, being a nuisance to everyone that wasn’t doing something immediately pressing. You wouldn’t stop talking, and you were always looking everywhere with eyes that were too big for your face. It was like magic, to me.

“I felt guilty, for finding my mate so soon after Paige had died. It felt wrong, so I denied it, for a long time. Kate… well, Kate helped with that. In her own twisted, fucked-up way, I guess. And then my family died, and we moved to New York, and I figured that you would have moved on, and found someone, I guess, so I tried not to think about you anymore.” Derek’s pulled away from Stiles gradually during his speech, and is now sitting on the end of the bed, arms draped over his legs, back slumped and posture defeated.

Stiles started to reach out, but paused when he saw the muscles in Derek’s back tense. “When I saw you in the shop I didn’t know – didn’t realize it was you. It took a while, until you were in my face, asking me questions, telling me you _knew,_ ” he laughs once, a sad, plaintive note, “that you _knew_ that I was a real wolf, that my secret had been exposed, and I thought I was done for, I thought that my mate wanted to sell me out to the hunters. I figured it was karma for letting my family, my pack die. And then you asked for my help.

“It was like a miracle had spit you back into my life, for better or worse, and I knew that I couldn’t just give up like I had, because you were so beautiful, and I couldn’t ever move on after seeing you again. But I didn’t – I couldn’t tell you, you know? I can’t make that kind of decision for you, I can’t even tell you what it would be for me because that would be so coercive and unfair and I just can’t be that person.”

“Derek, you’ve done no coercing. I was fully amenable to everything that happened.”

“But telling you this-“

“Won’t change my plan of action. I only do what I want to do, haven’t you figured that out yet? Why do you think my entire pack was convinced I had grabbed a murderous wolf off the street to have a sit-down chat with him? I don’t listen to what my own alpha tells me, and I’m sorry, but that’s not gonna happen like. Ever.”

“That’s good. Please don’t let me change you. You should forget about me and I – as soon as we’re done with fixing the territory and getting rid of Gerard, we’ll be out of your hair. Please – please don’t think about this. It doesn’t mean anything. It shouldn’t mean anything to you.”

Stiles’ eyebrows pop up. “Derek – hey, c’mon, don’t be such a sourwolf. I wasn’t saying I don’t want you – shit, you’re hot as all hell, you care about your family, you know about the supernatural, and you love kids and writing for them. You’re what every college student wants. More importantly, you’re what I want. Don’t skip town on my account, dude, because that means I’m gonna have to drag Jackson on a road trip to find you, because I’ve taken everyone else in the pack on a road trip except him, and he feels left out. And trust me, after several hours in the car with me, he’ll probably be more than ready to kill the reason for being on the road trip, aka you. So don’t do that. Just chill out. And maybe come over here so we can make out until Scott and them come over.”

Slowly, Derek turns his gaze back over his shoulder, to gaze at Stiles, who is languishing on the pillows of the bed. Stiles waves him over, and spreads his legs, which – well, Derek isn’t a saint, all right, and it smells amazing, and –

“OH GOD! IT SMELLS TERRIBLE IN HERE, OH FUCK, OH MAN, I’M LEAVING. I’LL BE AT THE POOL IF ANYONE NEEDS ME, YOU TWO ARE DISGUSTING AND INCONSIDERATE ROOMATES.” Cora slams the door as she leaves, and Stiles’ full body blush is more than a little distracting.

“Oops?” Derek finally says, letting a small smile creep onto his face.

“Good oops.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does anyone spot the avatar reference


	7. big things, little things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA SO I'M A TOTAL ASSHAT FOR NOT GETTING THIS OUT EARLIER  
> it's been sitting on my google drive complete save for the last two paragraphs for three weeks now  
> I got distracted by the tempting allure of summertime  
> I'm sorry I'm working on this, and the others  
> don't hate me

After several more hours of various ways of making out on basically every surface in the loft (which Derek knows that Cora is just going to kill him over, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when the air smells so thick with himandstiles that he can barely breathe without dropping fang), Stiles, face and other places raw from too much stubbled friction, calls in reinforcements in the form of the pack and movies. He extricates himself from Derek’s grip and throws open the windows and turns on the fans that Laura had bought approximately a decade ago. The airing out of the rooms makes Derek whine, a little uncontrollably, but Stiles just pats him on the cheek, saying “it’s horribly impolite to scar every wolf in a fifty-foot radius, as Cora so gracefully told us,” and moving on to turn on the vent in the kitchen, where he had come twice in the span of five minutes.

Derek stares at Stiles as he turns around to face Derek, hands on hips. “Okay, so. We’re mates, and we talked about what that meant for you, but what does that mean for me and my life? Are you gonna get sick and die if I don’t go back with you whenever you return to New York?”

Derek laughs, a little startled. “Um, no, not at all.” He pauses, and then shrugs. “Laura is ace, so she hasn’t really been looking for a mate. Because of that, she doesn’t really have any big ties to the city. I mean, we both love it, but she’s climbed the ranks at the restaurant she’s working at, and she’s about as close to the top as she can get. She’s a sous chef, and her bosses love her, which means that she could easily come to the West Coast and work for someone here. She was talking about saving up money and buying a restaurant from someone there, but she wasn’t sure where – she wanted to do a high-cuisine take on different island foods, but nowhere in the city had the right vibe.” Derek pauses, remembering Laura’s long rant about how breaking into the New York socialites’ world was nearly impossible.

She had been rather furious when she discovered that even if her head chefs were willing and happy to taste things that she created, unless it came from one of them, the patrons were… skeptical, at best. Food critics were more forgiving than the crème de la crème of the upper echelons of high society in New York. And yes, Derek, all of those descriptors for those snotty bitches were needed, and not a single one of them was at all repetitive. So Laura was considering other options - while some New York restaurants were willing to play with foods that Derek wouldn’t even really call foods (honestly, who the hell can make beef stew into little egg-like things? Who thinks of that, Laura?!), they were far less willing to go back to their roots and really look at the different things that other places, rustic, hearty foods, could give them. And maybe, if Derek’s persistent - well, maybe he can convince Laur that she can give the West Coast a try, and spend some of their seed money on getting a small place near the coast.

“I think she might be… amenable to being closer to our land, you know? I mean, well, it’s not our land, anymore, not really.” He sighs, worried that he’s tangling up what he meant to say. For all that he’s good with words on paper, they tend to get lost between his brain and his mouth when he really needs them. “Scott’s kind of… tended to it. It’s healthier now, than it has been for while, even though he wasn’t official til last night.”

“So, Laura - if she comes here, will she want the land back from Scott?” Stiles asks, looking genuinely intrigued. “Because Scott isn’t unwilling to give it back, as long as he can stay in the area. And that our pack can stay, too.” He shrugs. “I don’t think most of us would survive without the others. Where would she go, if not here?”

“Probably, she’d go to San Francisco. They’ve got a bustling food scene, with influences from all over the Pacific flowing in on the currents. She’d probably really love that - she could get different regional chefs in her kitchen, helping her to figure out how to really encapsulate the flavors she wants. I don’t, uh, think that she wants to stay in Beacon Hills - it’s too close to where it happened - but it would be good to be able to be within range.”

He laughs quietly. “Besides, she has been trying to get me to leave the nest, so to speak. I think she’d be glad if I were on my own, at least for a little while.”  
Stiles nods, eyes staring off into the middle ground, lost in thought. “But, all of your publishing stuff. Networking, all of that. Doesn’t most of it happen in New York? I can’t just ask you to move here and drop all of that.”

“Stiles, I think you’ve forgotten something.”

“What’s that?” Stiles asks, looking back at Derek, brows knit in worry.

“I’m a bestseller. I can do whatever it is that I want, nowadays. Miguel’s adventures could use a change in pace, and my editor’s been pushing me to do a spinoff story. I could write something about Pete going to college away from the pack. It’s not going to be hard to tell them that I’m relocating to the west coast for new source material. After all, I’ve been setting the adventures East Coast since I started writing them - this could work out really well, if I play my cards right.” He chuckles, and draws Stiles back into his arms. “In fact, they already have been playing out pretty well, if the smell of the apartment is anything to go by.”

Suddenly, Scott and Allison burst in through the heavy sliding door of the loft. “STI-- OH GOD THAT’S RANK. OH MAN,” Scott yells, covering his mouth and rushing to the window to stick his head outside. “Please keep the fucking to a minimum, please, guys. I mean, I called it, but shit, I didn’t want to have such intense evidence shoved into my nose.”

Stiles simply looks smug. “Ally, what’s up? Did something happen?”

Allison sighs, looking back at Stiles. “Gerard kind of stalked my dad to the Home Depot, and pinned him down there. Now he’s not letting him out of his sight. He’s pretending to be friendly, but we all know how much we can trust him, so Dad’s just trying to make sure that they don’t get any closer to you. Mom’s currently entertaining Kate, who thinks that Mom’s on her side, but she’s actually trying mislead her so we can actually have til Saturday, and not have to scramble through the woods trying to hide you for the rest of today and all of Saturday proper.”  
“Tell him about his dad!” Scott yells, still hanging out of the window.

“My dad? What’s happened?” Stiles asks, anxiety causing sparks to fly from his body. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, Stiles,” Allison soothes. “He’s just staying with Jordan for the weekend. We really don’t want him getting caught in the crossfire, and while he can take care of himself, we’d really rather have backup for him in case Kate and Gerard try to take hostages.”

Stiles lets out a low sigh. “You two really freaked me out, there. You had me thinking that dad was -”

Derek turns to Stiles, worried as his breath catches in his throat. “Is there something I should know about…?” He asks, brow furrowing into its customary scowl.

Scott retracts his head from the window and looks at Derek a little sideways. “I guess we didn't tell you, huh,” he remarks, almost to himself. “The Darach - Julia was her real name - was the alpha pack’s old emissary, before they killed everyone who wasn't an alpha for power. She was helping Kali to take them out, but then Kali turned on her. It was… brutal, to say the least. She got scarred and totally messed up, in the head, and went after everyone in Beacon Hills to create a ritual sacrifice to become stronger, and revive the Nemeton.” He pauses, and his mouth twists into a bitter, wry smile. Can you tell why we don't care for that dumb tree stump, now? Anyways. She kidnapped Stiles’ dad, because he was a protector, and we had to go into the void and half-die to save him. We almost lost each other, but once we saved our parents, and killed Julia, we had to hold onto each other really tightly. It was me, Stiles, and Allison.”

Allison nods absently, arms wrapped around her midsection, shivering lightly. “So we - we just wanted to tell Stiles what the situation was, and that his dad’s safe.” She turns to Derek, her eyes losing their empty glaze. “Is Laura coming for the anchoring ceremony?”

Derek starts. He'd been so wrapped up in Stiles, he hadn't even thought to ask Cora what Laura had said. “I'm - I'm not sure. Do you want to Skype her? Just so Scott and everyone can meet her.”

Scott nods. “Sounds like a plan, big man.”

 

\--

 

Half an hour and several arguments with the wifi router later, Derek and the gang are all clustered around the computer, which has been placed precariously high on top of a bookshelf in an effort to get it closer to the source of the Internet. The Skype icon bings quietly, indicating that the call is dialling, and Derek feels a slight sense of nerves. Will Laura approve of Stiles? Everything was kind of sudden. Will she be mad that Derek hadn't consulted her before making the claim?

Shit. He hadn't even gone through the claiming ceremony yet, and Laura will murder him if he goes through with it when she's not there.

Abruptly, Laura's face pops up onto the screen. “Hey, baby bro! And others.” Her grin fills her face, and Derek realises with a sinking sensation that she knows and that Cora told her, the little traitor. “So which one of you is the fabled Stiles?” Her grin transforms into a leer, her eyebrows taking on a dangerous angle. 

Stiles opens his mouth to respond, but Derek talks over him. “Don't answer that. She won't leave you alone, and I need to seriously talk to her. Yes, Laura, seriously.” Laura continues to pout, and Derek rolls his eyes. “Oh, get over it, dude. This is way more important than whatever heckling you feel the need to impart.”

Laura chuckles, only a little bit evilly. “Okay, Der. What's happening? Other than the evil hunter duo being back in town.” Her sense of intuition had always been uncanny, and now was no exception.

“Stiles needs to be anchored to the land, to the Nemeton, so that it stays a neutral, or even positive influence on the land. We think that Gerard wants to throw Beacon Hills into chaos and attract more and more supernatural creatures here - why, we don’t know.”

Laura pauses, finger coming into frame to scratch at her eyebrow, a nervous tic that she’d picked up from their father years before the fire. “What if he wants to access the dark side of the Nemeton to get the power directly from it? He could potentially use it as a beacon to attract a particular being, if he knew what he was doing… or, if he had a powerful enough spark to manipulate the Nemeton in his favor. He’d need Stiles to be bonded to the Nemeton to do that, of course, but it’s feasible that he’s already started the sacrifice chain that he’d need to corrupt it.”

Stiles glances over at Scott. “What kind of sacrifices are we talking here?”

“Well, to get the power that he wants, he’d have to channel it through Stiles - but to gain control over the Nemeton, all he has to do is sacrifice five different kinds of people: virgins, warriors, healers, philosophers, and guardians.”

Stiles lets out a low sigh. “No one has gone missing, yet - is there a time that this would be most effective?”

Laura nods. “New moon would be the time that Gerard would probably be hoping to do this at - when you wolves are at your weakest, and when it’s far easier to corrupt the neutral party that the Nemeton is.”

Allison nods. “So what kind of steps should be be taking to make sure that it stays pure?”

“Smudge with sweetgrass and light sage, take salt and water that have been prayed over and pour them across the roots of the Nemeton under the full moon. Your intentions must be pure, for these steps to take effect in they way that you want,” Derek finally spoke up, after they all paused momentarily. “If we do this before we bind Stiles to the Nemeton, it should be able to stay pure so long as he does.”

“No pressure,” Stiles quips, leaning back. “So, who wants pizza?”


End file.
